Save Me
by Cls2011
Summary: Mary is working at the Downton Abbey convalescent hospital. Matthew shows up, injured and shell-shocked. Matthew/Mary fanfic, Downton Abbey Series 2. Thanks to Jullian Fellowes for his lovely characters. *NOTE* this story is adopted from RomanticisedRebel, formerly mmow. Chapters 1-13 are her writings, chapter 14 will mark the beginning of mine.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Many of you may recognize this story from mmow, now RomanticisedRebel. That is because it is hers, she has graciously given me the rights to post it and allow me to continue it. Chapters 1-13 are her original writings, with the exception of a few grammatical edits and one or two re-wordings that I did. My writing will pick up in chapter 14. With that being said, I know some of you are probably ready to kill me for the lack of updates on Little Talks, I promise I am still writing. School, summer, family, and writers block happened. However, I have been working on the story so an update will happen. Until then please enjoy this story. Welcome new and old readers of this story! I hope you all like the direction I take it, and round of applause for RomanticisedRebel for beginning this journey. Enjoy! _

_BRACE YOURSELF FOR 12 MORE UPDATES, I DONT KNOW HOW TO ADD THIS WHOLE STORY WITH CHAPTER BREAKS IN ONE DOCUMENT._

Chapter 1

Mary liked it here.

She liked being among the convalescent soldiers, speaking to them, raising their spirits. It made her feel useful somehow, bandaging wounds, handing out sandwiches and listening to the injured soldier's stories. Even though at times it became tedious work, she felt like she was helping The Cause, that was, the war that was raging in France. If she was helping The Cause, then maybe, somehow, she was helping Matthew.

She saw Matthew's face in the face of every injured soldier, even in the ones of those burned or maimed beyond all recognition. She saw a valiant young man who had rushed off to war at his country's call, not once thinking of his own safety. She saw him every time she did something that brought a twinkle to one poor man's eyes. The war had certainly changed her – Before she could've cared less about these men's feelings, now lifting their spirits was what kept her going every day. It was her distraction from what kept her up every night and was always at the back of her mind.

Matthew. Every night, she knelt in front of an old photograph of him. Matthew. As tears ran down her cheeks, she prayed desperately to a God she didn't even know if she believed in. Matthew. "Dear God, I don't pretend to have much credit with you, and I don't even know if you're there, but if you are, please keep him safe."

Mary shook the thoughts of Matthew from her mind. Focus, Mary, She thought pay attention to the task at hand. She was in the middle of re-wrapping a deep laceration on a soldier's – Major James Evans, she believed – arm. She spoke to him and told him stories from years ago of the trouble she used to get in to at the parties she and her sisters attended almost nightly, and of her beloved horse, Diamond.

Suddenly, a shrill shriek erupted from the front of the house. "Ah, that must be the new arrivals," she said to Major Evans as she quickly finished bandaging his arm, "I should go help."

Major Evans smiled at her and thanked her warmly for her help as she briskly walked away, smitten with her like every other soldier in the bloody house. Ah, well, he thought, It is too well known she loves another.

Mary quickly walked through the rooms of injured soldiers to the front of the house.

As soon as Mary stepped into the front hall of Downton, she could tell something was going on. Agitated staff members stood on the edge of the room as a patient was brought in, screaming in pain with every movement. Dr. Clarkson was walking alongside the stretcher the man was being held down on. He was speaking calmly and quickly to the soldier, trying to calm him.

Dr. Clarkson caught sight of Mary and motioned for her to come over. Mary moved quickly across the room, catching sight of the man's bloody, bandaged arm. It was thrashing wildly as the man screamed, and just the sight of the wounds made Mary's blood curdle. The man was dirty and his wounds had not been cleaned, one swollen, red, and oozing so much that even Mary could recognize it as infected. Mary swallowed back her nerves and rushed to the man's side, ready to help.

The man looked terribly familiar. Deep cuts and bruises crisscrossed his face, which was red and sweaty with the unmistakable heat of fever. His blonde hair, matted with mud and blood was plastered to his head and forehead. He was deathly pale, bruises ringed around his eyes. His face was contorted in agony, and tears ran down his face and neck. "Sir"- Mary began and when she did, his eyes snapped open. Thomas, who was standing nearby, had to grab her to keep her from falling.

Those eyes- that blue- She'd know them anywhere.

Matthew.

Matthew; her Matthew. He was hardly recognizable, his eyes wild, unseeing. The fever that was wracking his body was also in his mind. He shook as he moaned aloud in pain.

His body was bruised, with open wounds that must've been agonizing. As she quickly took stock of his injuries, she noticed his left arm was badly broken, twisted at an odd angle. The soldiers carrying him accidentally jolted his stretcher, and he let out a scream that seemed to come from the depths of hell itself. Matthew's scream jolted Mary out of her panic, and she turned to Thomas, quickly barking out orders.

"Thomas, quickly, go and find Lord Grantham. Tell him that it is –" She inhaled deeply, choking back a sob, "Matthew." Thomas's eyes widened, and the footman who had once mocked Matthew at dinner scurried off, in search of Robert. Mary gathered herself and quickly moved back to the stretcher, walking alongside Matthew. She directed the men to a quieter room usually reserved for much higher ranked officers, where they moved the hysterical Matthew onto an empty bed, trying not to jostle him too much. Even though they did so gently, he still let out a bellow of pain.

"What happened to him?" Mary asked Dr. Clarkson. "He was caught by a shell," Clarkson said. "He's very lucky, it could've been much worse."

Mary couldn't see that as she watched Matthew be moved onto the bed. There was no trace of the man she loved visible in his eyes. His body was so badly beaten, and the fever from the infection had hold on him, making him delirious. As soon as the men stepped back to allow the nurses next to him, she rushed to his side, eager to help in any way possible.

"Matthew. Matthew." She pleaded with him, her tone begging him for a response. "Matthew, can you hear me?" Recognition flickered across his face, and just for a moment, she saw the old Matthew. If she hadn't been so well-bred, she would've leaped for joy had she not been gently pushed aside by a nurse. "Well," the nurse said in a thick Irish accent while putting her hand against his forehead, "He has a bit of a fever.'"

Mary turned to Clarkson. "What can I do?" Clarkson looked pained. "I'm afraid there's not much we can do at the moment. If he pulls through the night, he'll live. If not, he-" he stuttered, nervous, "he-…..he won't, I'm afraid….."

Mary was shocked, as she turned to look at the setting sun outside. "You mean he may not live?" She asked, praying it wasn't true. "I'm afraid so," Clarkson said. At hearing this, Mary sprang into action, grabbing a washcloth from the nearby ice chest. She began to bathe Matthew's forehead, wiping away the sweat pooling there. Clarkson was surprised by her quickness to take action, almost as much as he was by the appearance of the Earl of Grantham beside him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lord Grantham rushed into the room, tailed closely by Thomas. "What in God's name is goi-" Robert Crawley began, but stopped as soon as he saw the patient lying in the bed. He suddenly felt sick at seeing the soldier's horrific injuries as knowledge of who that wretched man was dawned on him. He swallowed his nausea back as he moved next to the bed beside Mary, who was mechanically bathing Matthew' forehead with a rag as Matthew sweated and moaned under the heat of fever.

"My dear Chap," Robert said as he steadied himself on Matthew's bed. "My poor, poor son," he said as Mary's hand found his. He gripped her hand for a moment, offering a silent prayer up for his heir. He then straightened himself, and turned to Carson, who was standing nearby, waiting for orders. "Carson, go and fetch Mrs. Crawley as fast as you possibly can." Without a word, Carson nodded and glided out the door before hurrying down to the garage to get the chauffer to start the car.

With the mention of his mother's name, Matthew's eyes opened and he looked wildly about and croaked, "Mother?"

Mary placed a hand on his. "She's coming as fast as she can. Rest, darling." Matthew seemed to calm at her touch and once again slipped under the fever. His body tensed, and then slumped as he lost consciousness. Robert then stood up, and turned to a nurse, speaking with as much authority as he could muster. "I want the other officers to be moved out of this room for tonight."

Clarkson raised his eyebrows only slightly before nodding his agreement to the nurse, who then busied herself helping the other two protesting officers out of the room. Robert looked curiously at Mary, who was speaking nonsense words to the unconscious Matthew, but dismissed it. He lightly brushed his fingers across Matthew's overheated forehead, which was not lost on Mary. Robert then turned on his heel, and purposefully strode out of the room, going to find the rest of the family to let them know what was going on.

Mary was left with Matthew, and she intertwined her fingers with his as she continued to bathe his forehead. It could have been seconds or weeks before Isobel arrived at Downton to Mary, though it took only an hour to retrieve her from the hospital.

Mary was still holding Matthews hand when Isobel entered the now-empty room. When she caught a glimpse of her son, she put her hand over her heart and felt light headed. Then she noticed Mary, who was wiping the sweat from her boy's face, speaking softly to her unconscious son. Despite the horrible circumstances, Mary did seem so right next to her son, incapacitated as he was. She crossed the room in a few steps and stood in front of Matthew's bed. "My darling, darling boy." Her heart leapt when she heard the faint "Mother?" from her son, who rose to consciousness for a few seconds before slipping back under.

Isobel then sat next to Mary. "May I help?" She gently tried to take the rag from Mary, who recoiled and curtly said, "I'm quite all right." She then softened her tone, adding "Thank you, though." Isobel tentatively smiled at Mary, proud of the woman who was so determined to take care of her son, even with what had happened between them.

The poor girl, Isobel thought. Isobel had time to prepare herself for what was coming in the car ride over. She had expected the worst, and found it. Mary, however, had not had that luxury. The girl was the one who identified him as Matthew, and had been with him nonstop, as she had learned from Dr. Clarkson as he filled her in on her only child's condition.

Just then, a cry of anguish ripped through the air and both women turned to the man they both loved. Isobel placed her hand on Matthew's forehead and sighed. "His fever is worsening." She grabbed a rag and began to wash over Matthew's battle-torn body, working despite his groans when the rag touched his wounds. The two women worked together, trying to offer him as much as themselves some relief.

Matthew eventually quieted as the fever grew stronger, and was still for a while. In the middle of the night, fresh tears began rolling down his cheeks. "M…. Mmmm….. Ma…. Mary." Mary wasn't sure she heard him, but his voice grew stronger as he kept whispering her name. "Matthew. I'm right here."

Matthew's semiconscious tears began flowing faster. "I...I...am so...sorry..."

Mary's emotional resilience collapsed there. She openly sobbed, and Isobel placed a hand on her back, comforting her. "Matthew, oh, Matthew, you're alright, you're alright…." Mary continued to sob, Isobel surprised but not shocked by her display of emotion. There was, after all, only so much one could take. This was true for even the strongest, like Mary. Mary's sobs eventually softened, and her hands returned to Matthew's forehead with the rag. She gasped.

"Isobel," Mary barely uttered her name before Isobel's hand was there too. "He is at the worst of it, my dear. This is where the fever either breaks or…" Isobel stopped, unable to voice what was both women's greatest fear. Matthew's breathing was extremely shallow and labored, coming in gasps with soft moans and cries. His face was flushed, soaked with sweat no matter how much the two women bathed it. Every muscle in his body quivered, trying to battle the fever, his head rocking side to side as inhuman grunts and rose from his chest

Mary began washing his forehead again, more desperately than before. Do not give up, Matthew, she willed. Do not give up on me yet.

She and Isobel continued working frenetically until both of them collapsed in exhaustion, just as the sun began to rise in the sky

As Mary drifted out of consciousness, a quiet, almost imperceptible request rose from the heir's lips - So quiet, Mary was sure she was dreaming, though she couldn't help placing her soft hand over his beaten one.

"Please... Save me."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

"Matthew."

His name was on Mary's lips as her eyes flicked open. Matthew. She looked next to her and gasped. He was here. She wasn't dreaming. Slowly lowering her eyes to his chest, she almost cried when she saw it rise and fall. Her fingers quickly found his pulse on his neck, and a few sobs escaped her as she felt it strongly. Her head fell forward to rest on his chest, to relish his heartbeat- to relish that she could still hear his heartbeat, that life had not left him while she slept. She would have stayed like that. Tears rolling down her face onto his chest had Isobel, looking stricken, not gasped "Matthew!"

Isobel's fingers found Matthew's pulse much in the same way Mary's did, and she let out a sigh of relief. He made it. She couldn't believe it. She didn't think it possible, though she hadn't wanted to frighten Mary with what she believed to be Matthew's imminent death. She was filled with such gratitude to Mary – She privately believed that Mary's presence had been part of the cause of Matthew's survival She had given him the will to live. She noticed Mary's head laid on Matthew's slumbering figure, and thought that she was asleep. She didn't realize that her young cousin was listening to the sound of her son's heart. However, she did allow herself to run her fingers through Mary's now disheveled hair, and whisper, "Thank you."

Mary thought it best to pretend she was still asleep, and acted like she awakened when she felt Cousin Isobel's touch. She wiped the tears off her face, and slowly sat up.

"Oh my dear, I did not mean to awaken you," Isobel said. "Oh, it's really no trouble at all," Mary said. "Would you like some tea? I know I would." Mary knew that Isobel needed some time alone with her son, who she believed was going to die for the past few years in some way or another. Mary quickly moved out of the room, finding Anna. "Anna, would you help me change and then bring tea for Mrs. Crawley and I?" "Certainly, milady." Anna smiled reassuringly at Mary. They then rushed to Mary's room, where they began to make sense of Mary's hair and clothes.

Isobel sat next to her now peacefully sleeping son. She finally allowed a tear to run down her cheek. "Oh my dear, dear boy." She said, taking his hand in hers. "Oh my darling, darling son." Matthew's eyes fluttered open, in a moment of consciousness, A small smile spread across his face. "Mother," he said, a small smile darting across his face before he drifted off to sleep.

Isobel's tears flowed more freely now. "You know, you have always been strong, my boy. Far stronger than I or even your father, and far more honorable. You cannot fathom how much you are loved. Not only by I, but my the Earl, and the servants, and Sybil, Cora, and the lot. Especially, though, by Mary. Where other women would have fled, she stayed with you through what I believe were some of the darkest hours of your life. She bathed your forehead, and showed no repulsion, when you were sick, wiped your tears. You love her too, you know. It was not me you called for, nor your father, nor that lovely girl Lavinia who you are thinking of proposing to, but her. You are meant for each other, of that I am sure. With my dying breath, I shall ensure that you both find each other. Lavinia nor Richard Carlisle shall ever stand in the way of that."

She ran her fingers through her child's floppy blonde locks, which were matted with oil and dirt and blood, both his and other's. She couldn't even imagine what he had seen while he was at war, and felt distressed she couldn't be there to comfort him, or even offer any words of encouragement. She felt sadness come over her, but shook it off as she heard footsteps approach.

Mary looked fresh and clean, and was followed by Anna, carrying tea. Mosley, who had been working at Downton with all the male footmen and valets being gone, scurried behind, quickly moving a table and two chairs close to the foot of Matthew's bed. He placed some pastries on it with the tea, and he and Anna bowed and bobbed. Both then quickly left the room, leaving the two women to breakfast.

Mary and Isobel ate in comfortable silence, mentally preparing for the grueling day to come. They would have to, though they were both quite willing, tend to Matthew's injuries. It had been decided that Clarkson would diagnose, and then Isobel would act as nurse, with Mary's assistance. They would bathe, clean, and dress his wounds. "It won't be pleasant," Isobel warned as they finished breakfast, "There will be a lot of blood."

"How hot should the water be?" Mary was determined to help Matthew in any way she possibly could.

"Warm more than hot," Isobel smiled at Mary's disregard for her warning, so much like she used to do as a young nurse.

While Mary ran the water, Isobel began the process of waking Matthew. She tried speaking to him, tapping him, and even lightly shaking him. He was out cold. She was beginning to grow frustrated when Mary appeared, having filled the basin. She nodded at Isobel, and Isobel understood her cue to move. Mary began to run her fingers gently through his hair, grazing her fingers over his eyes and forehead before running her fingers over his scalp. He grunted slightly and shifted, and she continued doing so, to Isobel's amazement, until he was conscious.

Mary shifted down the bed so she could see him. "Hello, there. How are we feeling today?" Matthew groaned lightly in response. "Well," Mary said, "If you don't mind, do you think you could stay awake as Dr. Clarkson examines you?" Matthew blinked at her, still out of it. "I should go and fetch him," Mary said.

"No need for that," Clarkson said, appearing behind Mary.

For the next few minutes, Clarkson poked and prodded Matthew. He asked questions, and the groggy Matthew muttered responses as well as he could.

When Clarkson was done, he gently pulled Isobel aside to give her instruction.

"His arm is badly broken, but you should be able to manage that. Clean the infected wound and drain it, and rub some iodine in it. You should be able to handle the rest- that is, except…" He paused. "What is the problem?" Isobel asked. "You see, I'm afraid, judging by Mr. Crawley's behavior, the damage may have been far more psychological, the trauma of war too much."

"Shell Shock?" Mary asked, appearing beside Isobel.

"I'm afraid so. The fever has masked it, the deliria hiding it, but I fear he might have it quite badly – from some hugely traumatic event at war. We will know more later, after we have observed him some."

Mary stood, shocked. Her poor Matthew. He was strong, stronger than most, she knew, but even the strongest man could be cracked. What horrible events had befallen him at war. She shook off these thoughts as she returned to his side with Isobel.

Shell Shock, echoed in both their minds as they prepared to bathe him.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Clarkson helped Mary and Isobel gently shift Matthew from his bed to the bathing table, taking care to not hurt his arm. Despite the three's efforts, Matthew still cried out in pain as it jostled his broken arm. He faded in and out of consciousness as they moved him and prepared to wash him, muttering incoherently. Clarkson nodded at the two women and then briskly strode out of the room.

Mary turned to Isobel. "We should start from his neck down," she instructed, handing Mary a sponge. Mary gently began to work the buttons on his collar, tenderly peeling it back and working the areas where blood had cemented his shirt to his wounds with warm water. She was trying desperately not to hurt him, but he still softly grunted as the shirt was moved away from his injuries.

She began to gently wash his neck, wiping away the dirt and grime there with warm water. He made contented noises as she wiped the warm water down his neck and began to unbutton his shirt. Isobel helped Mary gently lift Matthew's torso, eliciting a groan from him as they pulled the shirt off of him. Mary held his hand as Isobel slid the shirt sleeve off of his broken arm, and almost cried aloud when Matthew screamed and squeezed her hand tightly.

She felt sick at the sight of his arm. It was bent at a terrible angle, bone protruding in a bloody wound just below his elbow. Bloody gashes ran up and down, with bits of shrapnel and dirt coating them, alongside both new and old scars. Isobel had to steady herself on the table where the bowl of warm water was, and remind herself that she was a nurse, that she had seen worse. Even then, this was her son, her darling, who was hurt. It sent a pang through her chest to see him in pain.

Mary stood back and surveyed the damage to the rest of his chest and torso. Black and blue bruises covered almost every inch of him, and bits of shrapnel stuck out of his skin. She suddenly felt a white hot rush of hate run through her. She hated the Germans. She hated England. She hated anyone; anyone at all who had contributed to his injuries, making Matthew like this. She especially hated herself. Had she accepted him sooner, given him her answer, he might not have run off to war. He might've been more careful. He wouldn't have been hurt.

Isobel saw the emotions warring across her young cousin's normally distant and haughty face. She placed her hand on her shoulder and nodded at Mary, indicating they should continue on in their work. With that, Mary grabbed her sponge and began to work over his unbroken arm.

As she wiped away the dirt and blood, she couldn't help but admire him. The years at war had stripped him of any softness in his body. He was now lean, muscular, and strong. His arms were not bulky, but tight with ropey muscles running through. His shoulders were strong. His chest carved. His stomach was taut, his abs visible though not protruding. He was strong, a soldier now. He was no longer the slightly pudgy boy she had come to know and love, but a man, made strong and fit by war. She had to remind herself to think like a nurse.

She carefully sponged his chest, doing her best to avoid his injuries. She and Isobel would have to clean and bandage those later. She gasped when she looked up at Matthew's dirty face. His clear blue eyes peered at her, confused, but fully awake.

"Mary," he rasped. She smiled at him and continued to work.

Is Mary my angel? Matthew thought. He could not fathom why she was next to him. He had been sure he had met his end in the explosion. He had vague memories of her next to him, leaning over him, speaking to him, a few tendrils of her dark hair grazing his face as she put a gentle cool pressure to his forehead. She looked so angelic, in the early morning light that streamed through the windows of… of…

Downton. It dawned on him. He must be at Downton. This was the drawing room, though it didn't look like the Crawley's ornate drawing room. There were beds – hospital cots lined neatly through the room in place of furniture. He must have been injured, he decided. He was wondering how this came to be when he noticed a soft motion moving over his abdomen, bringing occasional sharp stabs of pain, but also soothing his torn flesh. His eyes met hers, as he relished the feeling of her hands moving the cloth over him. He had wished for this many times, though under different circumstances….

His thoughts were cut short as a searing pain ripped through his side as her sponge moved to his ribcage. He heard an inhuman scream tear through the air, and realized it must have been his own. Mary's hands shot to his face and she looked stricken.

Isobel gently moved Mary aside once she heard her son's yell of pain. She moved to his side and saw the black bruises flowering across one side of his ribcage. She looked pained when she turned to Mary, who was speaking softly to Matthew, hands gently caressing his face. "He has some broken ribs," Isobel stated. Mary grimaced when she heard this. She knew how painful broken ribs were. She had broken one herself once, when she fell off of Diamond. Every breath brought pain, the slightest movement agony. Matthew, on the other hand had several that he would have to handle. She was surprised he was not crying out with every breath – Her strong Matthew. She grabbed his hand, and he squeezed it hard, tears in his eyes. "Shh, it's alright, it's perfectly alright." She reluctantly returned to her task, as Matthew's eyes drifted shut.

Mary worked especially gently, avoiding his ribcage. "Is there anything we can give to him – to – to take the edge off?" She asked Isobel.

"I'm afraid there is not, we can't risk morphine with the infected wound."

Mary sighed as she continued to sponge his stomach. She quickly wiped the last of the dirt before nodding to Isobel, her task finished.

Isobel motioned for Mary to turn away. When Mary complied, Isobel quickly removed her son's pajama pants, grateful he was unconscious. She placed a towel over his privates for decency, and then tapped Mary to turn around.

Mary was shocked to see Matthew all but naked, with only a towel for privacy. She tried to not allow it to affect her as she took stock of the work she would have to do. She found herself admiring his long, lean legs much in the way she had his chest. More bruises covered his legs, mostly to the right side. He must have had his right to the shell, Mary thought. More cuts and shrapnel covered his legs, though they were not as bad as the ones on his chest. She decided to begin working at his feet, far away from…. Never mind that, Mary thought as she grabbed her sponge.

She began to work on his heels, and moved upward. His foot suddenly jerked though he made no noise, and she looked to Isobel, concerned.

Isobel was worried by Mary's expression, but smiled when she saw where she was working. "Don't worry, dear, he's just ticklish."

Mary smiled at this, enjoying her knowledge of this trivial but intimate detail about Matthew. She continued to work, and his foot continually jerked. For a moment, Mary forgot where she was, what she was doing. She reluctantly moved up his legs once she had cleaned his feet, up his calf muscles, scarred knees, and then… his thighs.

She blushed slightly as she began to wash them, the hard muscle tensing under her touch. Isobel stood for a moment and excused herself to go and discuss something with Dr. Clarkson. Mary's slight blush became a full-on blush at the thought of being alone with Matthew…. en déshabillé…. However platonic the situation was.

Mary continued to wash Matthews's legs when she heard a low groan. Really, she thought, Now you wake up? She immediately felt ashamed, as just a few hours ago she had been praying for him to wake. Her eyes rose to meet Matthew's confused blue ones, her blush making her face and neck feel like they were on fire.

A smile played across Matthew's lips as he saw Mary's face, but he felt confused at her expression. Was she… Blushing? Mary, actually blush? He searched the room for what could be the cause of her embarrassment, but saw nothing until he looked down at his body. "What in God's name…" He muttered, the blush in his cheeks instantaneously equaling Mary's. He was, essentially, naked, with Mary in the room. He felt immensely grateful for the towel covering him. A low groan rose from his throat. This could not be happening.

Mary took his groan as a groan of pain, and immediately her hand was on Matthew's, her face over his. "Matthew," she said with concern, "Are you alright?"

"Darling…" He said, and a smile flickered across her lip as he called her darling, like he had so long ago. "I seem to have misplaced… My clothing." He blushed even more furiously. Mary grinned, feeling her usual confident self again suddenly as she continued to work.

As she worked, Matthew pretended to sleep, hoping she wouldn't see his humiliation. He was being washed by Mary, like an invalid. He was relieved to hear his mother return as Mary finished cleaning his legs. Mary left the room, and he again felt humiliated at his mother pulling clean trousers on him, almost breaking his façade of sleeping when she removed the towel to clean the rest of him, then pull his pants up the last bit.

Mary returned, and helped pull on Matthew's shirt. Matthew bit back his gasps of pain as she did, and gasps as her fingers brushed his bare skin.

Mary suddenly noticed they had missed something. "What about his hair?" She asked Isobel. Isobel grimaced, showing Mary what was keeping them from doing so. Tears sprang to Mary's eyes when she saw what was keeping them.

A large, bloody gash ran over the top of his head, open, and dirty.

Thinking Matthew was asleep, Isobel told Mary what had to be done.

"They're going to have to operate to clean and stitch it, at the same time we fix his arm." Mary was not too concerned by this when Isobel leaned in. "Because of his infection… He cannot be given any morphine or chloroform."

Matthew shuddered at Isobel's next words.

"He will be awake."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Mary almost cried when she realized what Matthew was about to endure. "And… His ribs?" she asked Isobel.

"They will have to set those as well. However, Dr. Clarkson is tied up at least until noon with another… Soldier…" Something in the way Isobel responded made Mary's heart sink. "Who… Is the soldier?" she asked Isobel, not sure she wanted to know.

"It's… William."

"The footman? Is that all?" Mary asked, sounding a bit like her usual cold self.

Isobel turned to Mary sharply. "William's right lung was crushed, and he is dying. He injured it when he jumped in between Matthew and the shell," she snapped. With that, she sharply turned on her heel and strode out of the room, infuriated at Mary's insensitivity to the young man who had saved her son.

Mary was frozen. She stood, staring after Isobel, her mouth gaping open. She didn't know how long she stood there, until she heard a whisper from the bed. "It… It is true. William did save me," Matthew said almost imperceptibly. His eyes were far away, and Mary's heart caught in her throat. She slowly walked over to Matthew's bedside, and sat down in the chair next to him, clearly stunned from Isobel's harsh words. Her hands searched for Matthew's, and she took his in her hand. "You didn't know, Mary. There's no need to feel upset."

"Matthew, I'm not upset… I'm just…"

"Yes?" Matthew whispered.

"Grateful."

Tears pooled in her eyes, and though he winced at the jolt of pain it sent through him, Matthew lifted his hand to her face, thumb wiping away a tear that had managed to escape. Nothing more than cousinly love, he told himself. Nothing more than friendship.

Mary turned to him. "You can tell me what happened, if you like…" She smiled at Matthew gently, hoping for a positive response. He slowly let his hand slip down from her face, and she held his hand in hers as she helped him lower his arm. She then took it between her own two, holding it against his chest. Despite the pain the pressure from their hands brought him, a ghost of a smile flickered across his pale, battered face. "If you would like. I suppose I should start from the beginning of the battle…"

As Matthew spoke, he was transported back to the battlegrounds in France. He could see the brown, muddy, barren, war-torn French countryside. He could smell the foul, burning odor of the trenches, and taste the gunpowder in the air.

Matthew had stood in a room built in one of the trenches. William, who was helping him dress for the upcoming battle, accompanied him. William had been straightening the pins on Matthew's uniform, as Matthew prepared himself mentally for the upcoming fight. He knew that it would be a hard battle and that many would be injured, and that even more would die. He suddenly spoke. "Am I ready, William?"

"Only you can answer that, Sir."

"They're going to chuck everything they've got at us."

"Then we shall have to chuck it back, won't we, Sir."

If the situation weren't so serious, Matthew would have chuckled at his younger comrade's response. A hint of a smile ghosted across his lips as he responded, "Quite right."

Matthew would have believed he were back in France had the constant weight of Mary's hand been on his, running her fingers over his scarred skin, keeping him anchored. He continued on, sparing the most grisly details, not wanting to recap them in his mind. He skipped to the part where he was injured, a long way into the battle.

Matthew- then known as Captain Crawley - had run ahead of his legion, shouting orders and firing his pistol at the Germans, He had almost reached the first line of Germans when the shell landed. He had begun to move away, but couldn't fast enough. He had thought he was about to be blown sky-high when William jumped in front of him. "William, NO!" he had screamed as the shell exploded. It had thrown him back into a puddle – of someone else's blood, though he did not reveal that to Mary. William had landed on top of him, taking the worst of the impact.

He strained to remember what happened afterwards. All he could remember were voices and the agony that had been a constant for days.

"After that, it's just… foggy…" He concluded. Mary nodded. She did not want to push any further, already frightened by the vacant, haunted look in Matthew's eyes. She began to tease him, hoping to bring some of the light back to his eyes. "You know, Matthew, I did meet the nicest man the other day." He turned to her, some of the storm that was brewing in his eyes clearing away, clearly interested. "Oh?" He softly inquired. "Yes, I did," Mary continued, her signature smirk spreading across her face. "He introduced himself as Perseus." A smile spread across Matthew's lips at their old joke, and with that, they began their banter, much in the way they did before the war. Despite the pleasant conversation, both of their minds were in different places.

Mary was thinking of the look on Matthew's face as he told her his story. She could tell he was leaving parts out of it deliberately. She supposed he didn't want to tell her the most frightening parts, though she gladly would've listened. She, however, was even more concerned by the look on his face and in his eyes. His face had grown even more deathly pale, the rings of bruises around his eyes seemed to grow darker. His face had been slack, except for the twitching of his brow at certain parts, especially the ones she knew he had omitted information. His eyes had been glassy, and didn't seem to see. Something had gone on inside of his mind, and she had been afraid that Dr. Clarkson's prediction of shell shock had come true. He did not break, however, or go into a fit. She had managed to pull him out of it. There is still a good possibility he does not have shell shock, she reasoned. There was no proof of it yet, she decided, so she refused to accept it.

Matthew was far off. He was daydreaming about the woman sitting right in front of him, about what she had meant to him while he was at war. Every night, he would look at a photograph of Mary, remembering her beautiful face. If he were to be killed, at least he would be able to remember her in his last breaths. She had kept him going at war, though he was courting Lavinia. Mary was why he had been unable to propose to Lavinia the last time he saw her. As he continually conversed with Mary, less pleasant thoughts whirled through his mind.

"He will be awake." No chloroform, no morphine. He could hardly stand to think of how it would feel. Pondering his upcoming operation, he suddenly felt fatigue. Mary took notice as his eyelids grew heavier as he fought to keep them open. She smiled at Matthew, who was already beginning to slip away. She moved to the head of his bed and adjusted his covers. She wanted to kiss his forehead, but settled for smoothing her fingertips over it. She thought Matthew was asleep when he mumbled a question to her.

"Mary…"

"Yes, Matthew?"

"Will you stay with me, when they… When they… Operate?" Mary's breath caught in her throat. He had overheard her and Isobel.

"Of course; as long as you want me there."

Matthew's lips curved upward slightly before he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

Mary stayed by his side.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Mary sat by Matthew's side as he slept and suddenly felt fatigued. She had only managed to sleep for a few hours the previous night. She fought to stay awake, but her eyes eventually drifted shut, and she slumped in her chair.

Mary slept a black, dreamless, deep sleep. She had no idea that after some time, Matthew awakened. She wouldn't have dreamt that he watched her sleep.

Matthew was worried, tense, about his upcoming operation. He understood what he would have to endure. However, his mind drifted away from his concerns as he took in Mary's slouched form. She was always beautiful, but especially so in sleep. A few tendrils of hair fell from her bun to the front of her face, which was relaxed. Gone were the creases on her forehead. Her perpetually raised brow was relaxed and her eyes gently shut. Her lips were slightly parted, and she looked innocent, her expression childlike. She breathed deeply, her chest rising and falling as she muttered something to herself as she slept. He was wondering what she was said when the door opened, and Robert Crawley stood under the arch, accompanied by the family. "Mary," Matthew said softly. Her eyelids fluttered.

Mary had been in a lighter sleep when she heard her name uttered. "Mary," a voice said. It was her favorite voice, weak, but still deep and melodious. "Mary, Robert and the family are here." Her eyes fully snapped open to see the face of the voice. She blushed and quickly sat up straight, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She quickly tucked a few stray tendrils of dark hair back into her bun. She stood hastily and turned, evening her voice to her normal cool tone. It felt like the voice of a stranger after what had transgressed the night before.

"Father," she greeted Robert as she walked to the door. She took his hand. "Matthew is awake." "Excellent," Robert responded, "We have all been so anxious to see him."

Mary led them over to Matthew, briefly pausing to straighten the covers over Matthew's broken arm. He gave her a look of gratitude as the family quickly filed in.

"My dear chap, how are you feeling?" Robert asked, smiling warmly at his heir. "Well, while I can't say I'm at my best, I am feeling much better, thank you," Matthew smiled. "Well, that's excellent news. I should allow the rest of the family to visit with you, they have been chomping at the bit to see you."

Matthew smiled as Edith politely greeted him, "Hello, Matthew." She wished him well and shot a disdainful glare at Mary before moving aside. Matthew was surprised to see the Dowager Countess behind her. "Matthew, my dear boy, how are you?"

"I'm managing quite well, thank you."

"You know, there is quite a difference between managing well and being well. Make sure you see to the latter." She shot him an affectionate look that surprised him; he was accustomed to the sharp, pointed glance he had come to know as "The Dowager." She then moved aside to let Cora greet him. Sybil followed, and the rest of the family said their farewells before moving out of the room just as quickly as they came in.

Sybil lingered, however. "How are you feeling, really, Matthew?" she began in her sweet, husky tone. "You can tell me, honestly, I am a nurse now," she remarked with pride. Matthew couldn't help but smile at his young cousin, remembering the satisfaction and pride he took in his work when he first became a solicitor. He obliged her, and began to tell her how he was faring while Dr. Clarkson spoke with Mary and Isobel.

"I am pleased. Thus far, contrary to my initial observations, he does not seem to be showing the signs of shell shock," Clarkson remarked.

Mary and Isobel both beamed, ecstatic that their Matthew might be safe from the terrible condition that haunted the minds of too many soldiers. "However," Clarkson said, "We will have to continue to watch him. These things can still come up. He has been here less than 12 hours." Mary and Isobel's faces both fell slightly. "We needn't worry about that until after the surgery, though"

"When will it be?" Asked Mary.

"As soon as possible," Clarkson said. "I have already had the operating room prepared for him."

Mary froze. Isobel paled slightly, then nodded. As if on cue, three young nurses moved into the room. They surrounded Matthew's bed, and Matthew's eyes darkened. "I do suppose it is time," he sighed. Sybil nodded at him encouragingly, then left to return to the other soldiers. Mary, Isobel, and Clarkson helped the nurses move him onto the stretcher. He gasped only once, almost used to the regular jolts of pain running through his body. They then carried him into the small library, which had been converted into an operating room. They set his stretcher on the operating table, and quickly dispersed around the room, making final preparations for surgery. Mary helped Isobel remove his shirt. Mary stood next to Matthew, and grabbed his hand, for her sake just as much as his.

He squeezed her hand, and she saw the terror in his eyes. "Darling, you'll be alright," she whispered to him. Her tone of voice betrayed that she wasn't totally sure he would be. He nodded and swallowed. Clarkson moved to the head of the bed. "Captain Crawley, we'll start with the laceration on your head, if that's alright." Matthew met Clarkson's eyes and almost imperceptibly nodded.

The nurses spread around the table, ready to hold him down if need be. Isobel used a sponge to remove the blood and dirt around the cut. After she finished, Clarkson began to dab the cut on his head with what felt like fire, though he knew it was antiseptic. He squeezed Mary's hand slightly as tears sprang to his eyes. "You're doing well, Mr. Crawley," Clarkson remarked after he stopped dabbing at the wound. He began to stitch it, and Matthew's eyes squeezed shut, his brows twitching at the pain. Mary leaned over him, softly speaking to him. "Matthew, darling, it's alright." She put her hand on his cheek as a tear ran down. He gasped as Clarkson quickly worked, pulling the stitches shut. He and Isobel moved to Matthew's unbroken arm and continued in much the same manner. He gasped when Clarkson poked at his infected wound, and a moan escaped his lips when the doctor pulled shrapnel from his flesh.

Clarkson was worried. If this was how Matthew reacted to the least painful part of his operation, he was concerned how his reaction to the setting of his arms and ribs would affect Mary - the only person in the room untrained and inexperienced in medicine. He gently pulled Mary aside. "Lady Mary, I am concerned that Captain Crawley's injuries and how we deal with them may be disturbing to you. You may want to hang back for this portion." Mary turned to him and responded reproachfully, "I was never much good at hanging back. I should like to stay here." Clarkson resigned, knowing that once Mary had made up her mind, there was no convincing her otherwise.

Clarkson moved to Matthew's ribs, rattling off instructions to a nurse. She handed him a bandage. Isobel spoke calmly to Matthew, who was pale and sweating. Mary held his hand, and squeezed it as the nurses gently lifted his torso to so Clarkson could slide the bandage underneath his ribs. Clarkson then ran his fingers along Matthew's ribcage, feeling for the spot where his ribs were broken. Finding it, he nodded to the nurses. They placed their hands on him, preparing to hold him down. He pressed firmly into Matthew's side.

Matthew grunted, and then yelled in pain. He frantically tried to move away from Clarkson's fingers, sweat pouring down his face. The nurses held him fast, and Mary ran her hands over his face, trying to calm him. "Matthew, you're alright, you're okay," she soothed. His breathing was extremely shallow as Clarkson finished pushing the broken ribs into place and quickly secured the bandage. Clarkson nodded to Isobel, that she should begin her part of the surgery. He then quickly moved to the back of the room, relieved. Her portion was the least tricky, but by far the most painful to the patient, especially with the bone protruding from Matthew's arm.

Isobel moved to the right side of the bed, opposite where Mary was sitting. Mary was now wiping Matthew's face and neck with a rag. Isobel positioned her hands right above where the bone was sticking out. Before she lost her nerve, she threw her weight down on it, forcing it back into place.

An inhuman scream of agony filled the air, and heart-wrenching sobs followed. Downton Abbey itself seemed to vibrate and the walls shake with the sound of Matthew's screams. Matthew's face and neck strained upward, muscles and tendons bulging outwards. His normally ghostly pale face was bright red. His eyes squeezed shut, and sweat covered every inch of his body, which writhed in protest to the pain. His head jerked back as he screamed again, a scream that would have broken even the coldest of hearts. Mary, who was still holding Matthew's hand, cried out as his gentle squeeze became a crushing death lock.

Matthew wished for death, to pass out, anything that would stop this torment.

Isobel gritted her teeth at the sound of her child's torture. She continued to move his arm into place, straightening it, and securing the wound where the bone had stuck out with a tightly wrapped bandage. She placed his arm in a sling, ignoring Matthew's continued cries. After she finished, she collapsed into a chair, exhausted. No mother should ever have to hear her child scream like that, Isobel thought, and especially shouldn't be inflicting the pain.

Mary leaned over Matthew. He stomach was tying itself in knots at the sound of his pain. She wiped his face with a rag, and spoke to him quickly and softly. "Matthew, shhhhh… You're alright, you're fine…. It'll be okay." She wiped his tears, and his screams quickly subsided into cries and then shuddering. As he calmed, Dr. Clarkson moved back into the room. Everyone positioned around Matthew's stretcher, lifted it, and carefully carried Matthew back to his room. They gently moved him back onto his bed, and Matthew, still too stunned by what had transpired, did not stir.

Clarkson quickly checked Matthew then turned to Isobel. "Everything seems to be in order." With that, he swiftly moved out of the room, tailed by the nurses.

Mary and Isobel sat on either side of Matthew, who was still clinging to consciousness. "Matthew, my brave, brave boy," Isobel said to Matthew as she pulled the covers over his still bare chest. She then performed an action that seemed strange to Mary. She placed her hands on either side of Matthew's face, thumbs resting above his eyes. She then lightly ran her thumbs in circles around his eyes and temples. As his eyes drifted shut, she rubbed her thumbs on his eyelids. His breathing quickly steadied and then deepened, indicating to Mary and Isobel he was asleep. Mary looked curiously at Isobel.

"An old trick of mine," Isobel whispered. "A mother's secret. It always used to put him right to sleep when he was a boy. I haven't done that in years…" She smiled at Mary, who despite her best efforts, yawned. Isobel looked outside, noticing it was already night-time. "My dear, you must be exhausted. You should head up to bed."

"That's kind of you, but I think I should like to stay here with him," Mary responded, not unkindly.

Isobel smiled even more widely. "Here, take the cot next to his." Mary smiled gratefully, and sat down, kicking off her shoes. She let out her hair, the vast majority of which had already fallen out of its bun during the earlier ordeal. She slid into her cot, only a few feet away from Matthew. Though the cot was terribly uncomfortable and she was still in her day clothes, she felt as though things were almost as they should be. She smiled as she began to fade from consciousness, and took Matthew's hand (which had been dangling off his bed) in hers, resting them on the chair between then. She gasped at a a sharp pang in her hand when she did, but disregarded it, telling herself she would have a nurse look at it if it still hurt in the morning. She was almost asleep when she felt a touch ghost across her face. Even in her semiconscious state, she knew it was Isobel.

Isobel, upon seeing Mary next to her son, his hand in hers, had felt an overwhelming love for this stubborn, strong woman who cared so deeply for her son. She quietly moved over to the side of Mary, who she regarded as a daughter of sorts. She knew she could not act as a stand in mother to Mary how Robert filled the long-empty place of Matthew's own father. Mary had a mother. However, she had a sense that Mary's mother had been a sort of absentee parent for much of Mary's childhood. In all likeliness, Mary had seen more of her nannies and governesses than her own mother. She wanted to replace some of that love and affection that had been lost.

She had sat down next to Mary, whom she thought was asleep, or almost asleep. Although initially unsure what to do, she had seen Mary's confusion at her display of affection in helping her son sleep, and decided to do the same. She began to gently rub Mary's face, ghosting over her temples and eyelids. After a short time, she heard Mary's breathing deepen to the point of a deep slumber. She stood. Pleased it had the same effect on Mary, and returned to her cot. She fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

Though Isobel had not realized it, Matthew had awoken while Isobel caressed Mary's face. He smiled when she returned to her cot, and soft snores arose.

His hand was in Mary's. He was between the two women he loved.

All was as it should be.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Mary was up bright and early the next morning. Reluctantly sliding her hand away from Matthew's, she stood and hurried out of the room, where Anna was waiting for her. "Oh, good, Anna, you're here." With that, the two rushed upstairs to Mary's room, quickly changing Mary and doing her hair as they had the day before. While Anna worked, Mary studied her hand. Anna caught sight of it, and gasped.

"Milady, whatever happened to your hand?"

Mary sighed. "I think yesterday, during Matthew's operation…"

Anna nodded in understanding. "You might want to have it looked at…"

Bright purple bruises covered Mary's left index and pinkie finger. Both were swollen horribly at the knuckle, and her pinkie was bent at a strange angle. Mary was grateful she was right-handed.

Anna secured the last few pins in Mary's hair, and Mary nodded at her, hurrying downstairs. She hoped she could get her hand looked at and maybe fixed before Matthew awoke. Outside of Matthew's room, she caught the Irish nurse who had diagnosed Matthew's fever. "How can I help you, Lady Mary?" the nurse smiled at Mary.

"Well, I seemed to have injured my hand…"

The nurse nodded, not asking any questions about how it had occurred. "This way, please, " she said authoritatively as she stepped into Matthew's room. Mary reluctantly followed, not wanting to be in the same room as Matthew when her hand was bandaged. He had enough on his plate, and she didn't want him fretting about her hand. She sat down on the cot farthest from the still slumbering Matthew, and the nurse pulled up a chair, carefully examining Mary's hand. She pushed on the knuckle gently, and Mary winced, but bit back any sound.

"Yes, I dare say your pinkie is broken at the knuckle. Your ring finger is a fracture." She met Mary's eyes. "You know, Lady Mary, you aren't the first young woman to have broken a finger caring for a young man. If you'd like, I could put it in a metal splint that would allow you to continue your work… It isn't the most comfortable thing, but it will heal faster and you won't be hindered by it."

Mary quickly nodded. "That would be wonderful."

"But first, we must set your fingers."

Mary let out a small gasp as the nurse twisted her fractured finger back into a normal position . The nurse was wrapping the knuckle when Isobel appeared by her side.

"Mary, dear, whatever happened to your fingers?" Isobel whispered, not wanting to wake Matthew.

Mary took a deep breath and smiled as warmly as she could manage. "I was ever so clumsy. I seemed to have slipped and injured them."

Isobel frowned at Mary, knowing she was not being told the whole story. "Oh, really?"

The nurse cut in. "Lady Mary, if you don't mind, I'm going to set your other finger. This one may hurt a bit." Isobel placed her hand on Mary's shoulder as the nurse took Mary's pinkie, straightened it, and twisted it into place. Air hissed through Mary's gritted teeth as she let out a sharp cry.

A voice rose from the other side of the room, groggy with sleep. "Mother? Mary? Is every think alright?"

Mary put on as cheery voice as she could manage while the nurse finished bandaging her thumb. "Everything's perfectly fine, Matthew. We'll be with you in a moment!" She grimaced as the nurse secured a tight but small metal splint around her two fingers. After the nurse finished, Mary turned to her and warmly said, "Thank you…." She blanched. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't seem to know your name."

"O'Malley." She smiled, "Mrs. Donna O'Malley."

"Well thank you, Nurse O'Malley." She wondered briefly who her husband was as she nodded to Nurse O'Malley and turned away, hastily making her way over to Matthew. She sat next to him. "How are you feeling today? A bit less groggy?" She smiled at Matthew.

"Yes, quite," He mumbled, his voice barely more than a whisper. She smiled affectionately at the still half-asleep Matthew. She reached down to brush some of the sleep out of her eyes. She didn't realize she had used her bad hand until it was too late. Her metal splint touched his skin, and his good arm shot up, his hand on hers. "What happened to your hand?" He was immediately distraught, the thought of her being hurt in any way upsetting him.

"Oh it's really nothing," she said as brightly and quickly as she could manage.

"Quite the contrary, Mary. If you aren't telling me, then it must've been quite bad," He chided her in his hoarse voice, trying his best to look stern while lying down. She couldn't help but giggle at his trying to be authoritative while so incapacitated.

She loved him, loved his efforts to be cross. She loved the twinkle that returned to his eyes when she laughed. His pale face seemed to lighten and relax at the sound, and the bruises and cuts around his eyes seemed to be less prominent. His lips curved upward into a small smile.

Matthew mentally shook himself. Get it together, Matthew, he thought. The effect she had on him…

"Really, Mary, do tell me." A deep look of worry crossed his face. "May I… See it?" With much effort lifted her hand to his dry lips, sweetly touching his lips to her hurt fingers.

Mary smiled at his gesture, her smile widened when she heard his stomach rumbling. "Why, Matthew, you must be famished. I don't think you've eaten since you got here…"

He grinned sheepishly –weak as he was, it was more of a grimace with crinkling at his eyes, "just a bit."

Mary quickly ordered a nearby maid to go and fetch him some soup. In a few moments, the maid returned with a broth. Matthew began to try to sit up. The pain across his face made it clear he was unable. Mary gently placed her hand on his chest, preventing him from trying anymore. "Just what do you think you're doing?" she said playfully.

"Well, I'm trying to sit up so I can feed myself…" Matthew trailed off as he realized what was about to happen. "I'm not feeding myself, am I?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"No," Mary said gently, "I'm afraid you're still a bit too weak for that." Matthew sighed.

"What is it?" Mary asked.

"Nothing, Mary. It's just that, all of this, it makes me feel like even more of an invalid than I already am."

"Matthew," Mary chided, "You are not an invalid. You will get better soon."

"How do you know?" he asked, almost snidely.

"Because," she said, "Perseus was never down for long."

Matthew smiled at this, and allowed Mary to place an extra pillow behind him, pushing him slightly more upright. She then scooped a spoonful of soup up and lifted it to his mouth. He grimaced slightly as she did so. "I still feel like you should be saying, 'here comes the motorcar!'…"

"Oh, do hush and eat your soup." Mary grinned as Matthew obliged, his hunger getting the better of him. She lifted the spoon to the edge of his lips, and he willingly drank.

She continued to feed him like that for a while. After he had finished, she had a maid take away the bowl.

She sat with him in a comfortable silence for a while. Eventually, Clarkson showed up to check on Matthew. He looked at the wound on his head. "Already this is beginning to heal, Captain Crawley. He looked at Mary. "It might be beneficial to wash his hair, to keep the area clean." He continued to check Matthew's wounds. "The infection is almost gone," he said of the infected cut on his arm. "Rub some more iodine in it." He chose to leave the broken arm, having faith in Isobel's skill. "I'll be back around the same time tomorrow, unless something arises." He nodded at Matthew, and then Mary. He then went over to Isobel, who had been reading while Mary tended to Matthew. He discussed Matthew with Isobel as Mary turned to Matthew.

"Shall we wash your hair?" She said, smiling slightly at the prospect of running her fingers through his hair.

A few moments later, Matthew's head was positioned slightly off the bed, supported by a towel on the edge of a bowl of warm water. Mary gently ran a louse comb through his hair. After she was certain she had gotten rid of all the nasty little – her lips twitched at her vulgar pun - buggers, she began to run her fingers through his hair, mindful of his stitches. She poured warm water over the top of his head, and carefully ran her fingernails along his scalp. She carefully worked away the oil, dirt, and blood that matted his hair.

Matthew relaxed, eyes closing as she massaged his head. It felt wonderful, not only to finally be clean after two years at war, but to have her fingers in his hair. She worked in a rhythmic pattern. A soft groan escaped from his throat. He relished her touch, her affection. He was slightly disappointed when she finished, though he enjoyed it when she gently towel dried his hair. She helped adjust him back onto the bed, positioning his head on the pillows and running her hand through his thick, freshly cleaned blonde hair once.

She then carried the bowl of dirty water and towel to the door of Matthew's room, where a maid was waiting to take it out to dump it. She returned to Matthew's side. She was disconcerted by the look on his face. He was extremely pale and his eyes shut. "Matthew, are you alright?"

"Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick…" He mumbled. Mary quickly grabbed his sick bowl and helped him move on his side, leaning him over it.

Her hand rubbed his back as she murmured, "It's alright, It's perfectly alright," while he retched. When he had finished, she gently laid him on the bed. She quickly grabbed a towel to cover the sick bowl. She heard a strange, strangled, laugh rise from the bed. "What is it?" she questioned Matthew.

"I was just thinking it seemed like such a short time since I turned you down," he says to Mary. "Now look at me—impotent, crippled, and stinking of sick. What a reversal. You have to admit it's quite funny."

Mary turned to him and said sharply, "All I'll admit is that you're here, and you've survived the war, and that's enough for now." With that, she turned and marched out of the room. She was worried now. A few moments ago, Matthew had been at peace. Now, he was in this state. She almost crashed into Isobel. "Cousin Isobel, I am so terribly sorry."

"Nonsense, dear." She looked down at the sick bowl. "You really have become quite the nurse…"

Mary blushed. "Oh, it's nothing." With that, she quickly continued down the hall.

As Isobel marched in to see her son she murmured, "On the contrary, it's the very opposite of nothing."

Mary quickly disposed of the sick bowl and hurried back to Matthew, concerned for him. Isobel stood a few yards away from him. "I don't know what's happened- he's in quite a state…" She nodded, and hurried to Matthew's side. She had barely sat down when he grabbed her injured hand.

"I did this, didn't I?" He choked out.

Mary's eyes widened, all she could do was nod.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Matthew's eyes were haunted. "I did this, didn't I?" He grabbed Mary's injured hand. She was stunned, unable to speak. She only nodded.

He shuddered. He had begun remembering what had happened to him in the surgery that morning, coming back to him in bits and scraps of memory made fuzzy by his pain. He was in too much agony at the time to be thinking clearly, but the memory of when he hurt Mary was crystal clear.

It was the worst part of the surgery, the pain making him wish he had died in the trenches. Mary's hand had kept him in the present. He had squeezed it as the bone was pushed back into his arm, and felt the distinctive crunch of her bone under his hand. It would have been imperceptible to others, but he had spent two years in the army. He had had broken other men's bones, and done far worse to them as well. As the memory of her fingers snapping in his hand filled his mind, so did other memories. They were older, from his time in France. His fist shattering a German- another human being's - jaw. His knife slitting a man's throat.

He closed his eyes against the barrage of visions of the war. When he opened them again, he forced himself into the present, on Mary. "Mary. I am so terribly sorry. I would never intentionally do anything, and I mean anything, to hurt you." There was an awkward moment of silence, the first one between them in a long time. It was long enough for Matthew's visions of war to return, and he shuddered.

Mary panicked. She felt him slipping away from her. His eyes grew more distant and looked haunted, his jaw tensed, his good hand clenched and unclenched. "How about if we read, Matthew?" He didn't seem to hear her. "Matthew?"

"You know, Mary, I do seem to be feeling a bit tired," he said, snapping out of his haze. "I was wondering if I might be able to sleep for a bit?"

She plastered a smile across her face, trying to hide her growing worry. "Of course, Matthew."

"It is almost dinnertime, Mary. You should dine with the others. I'm sure they're anxious to see you…"

"Matthew," she said, "I don't want to leave you all alone."

"I won't care, I'll be asleep." He snapped. She looked wounded. He tried to soften his tone, "And, I'll have Mother for company."

She reluctantly stood from her chair. "Are you really sure, Matthew?"

"Quite." He forced a smile. She was turning to leave when his hand shot up, catching her arm. "And Mary- I see the circles under your eyes. It might help you to have a night's sleep in your own room…" She nodded. He watched her graceful figure disappear through the door.

Mary finally had a bath, the first one in days. She had to smile. She must have smelled quite terrible to Matthew. Anna dressed her in her red dress. She smiled. Matthew's favorite. Anna slipped a silver flower into her hair. She smiled. It was the one she wore the night Matthew proposed.

Mary could hardly pay attention during dinner. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Matthew, and how distant he has seemed. The only part of dinner conversation she took part in was when she was asked questions about how Matthew was faring. After dinner was finished, she quickly excused herself up to her room. Anna helped her dress for bed silently, and braided her hair. Mary slid into bed, surprised at how tired she was, Matthew still on her mind. Though her bed felt wonderful, she still would've preferred to be with him. Her last thoughts before she drifted off were of the innocent boy she had loved before the war.

Mary had only been asleep for what fell like a few moments when she was woken by the sound of Anna opening her door and hurrying to her side. Anna gently shook her. "Milady, milady, wake up!" Mary opened one eye.

"What is it?"

"Milady, it's Mr. Crawley."

As soon as she heard that, Mary was out of bed, stepping into her slippers. Anna quickly handed her a dressing gown and Mary ran out of the room as she pulled it on. She sprinted through the halls and rooms to Matthew's room, bursting through the door. She couldn't see Matthew through the several nurses who surrounded him. Isobel looked up. "Mary!" Isobel's tone told Mary all she needed to know as she hurried to Matthew's bedside.

What she saw when she was at Matthew's side made her feel like a knife was driven straight through her heart.

Matthew writhed on the bed; his eyes open but not seeing what was around him. They focused and unfocused, darting from left to right. His lips moved, shouting silently. He was not having a nightmare, as she had prayed, but an episode of shell shock. She had seen it before on other soldiers – he was hallucinating, that he was back on the battlefield. His distress was clear on his face. She looked up at all of the nurses. "All of you leave us, please. Nurse O'Malley, if you would be so kind as to contact Dr. Clarkson and tell him what is happening and to please come immediately." Nurse O'Malley nodded, and she hurried out of the room, the other nurses following her closely.

Mary then turned back to Matthew. Matthew's face was red, tears streaming down. His muscles twitched and contracted. Mary couldn't make out the words he was mouthing, though she guessed they were orders to his comrades. His breathing was hard and fast, dangerously close to hyperventilating and his body jerked erratically Mary bent over him, determined. Whatever sort of waking nightmare he was in, she was going to pull him out of it. She motioned to Isobel, who pinned down Matthew's arms to keep him from hurting himself.

Mary began firmly patting the side of Matthew's face. "Matthew, Matthew. You're at Downton. You're safe. Matthew." His movements began to slow slightly. She put her hands on the sides of his face, her chocolate eyes baring themselves into his unfocused blue. "Matthew. Matthew. Snap out of it. Wake up." She did not make any more progress with him as she continued to shake and speak to him. She looked to Isobel for advice, who looked helpless for the first time Mary had ever seen.

Mary turned back to Matthew, dismayed. Matthew's torment continued and worsened; scenes more disturbing than Mary could possibly imagine playing before his eyes. She didn't want him to suffer for one more second. In a final moment of desperation, she leaned down, firmly planting her lips between his eyes.

To Mary and Isobel's complete amazement, Matthew began to calm at the touch of her lips, His arms stopped thrashing so much and the muscles that had been straining in his hallucination began to relax. Mary, wanting to speed the process, slid her lips down, firmly pressing her mouth to his. His mouth went slack under hers, and his eyes began to focus. As Mary felt him emerge from his hallucination, she couldn't help the tears that began streaming down her face. "Oh, Matthew," she cried. At first he was confused, but the realization of what just happened dawned on him. He weakly lifted up his thumb to her face, wiping away the tears that streamed down it. He couldn't stop his own tears, and Mary gently laid down next to him, nuzzling her face into his neck. He wrapped his good arm around her, and they cried together.

Isobel was immensely relieved that her son was out of his fits, but also was very uncomfortable, feeling like an intruder on the immensely private moment between Matthew and Mary. Dr. Clarkson's appearance in the doorway was a welcome reprieve, ad Isobel immediately stood and crossed the room to him. She began to fill him in on what had just occurred with Matthew.

Mary suddenly felt extremely fatigued, and could sense that Matthew was as well. She began to stand to move into the cot next to his, but he tightened his arm around her. "Please," was all he said and Mary's heart softened, she laid back down, pressing her lips to his hairline before they both drifted off.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Isobel woke up the next morning much in the same way as she had the past few days she had spent here at Downton. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and glanced over at her son to see whether he was asleep. She was relieved to see his eyes still closed, his injured body relaxed.

She didn't even give a second thought to the fact that Mary was lying in bed with Matthew. The previous night, as she retired to bed after discussing Matthew's fits with Clarkson, she had seen Mary sleeping next to Matthew in his bed. She lay on top of the covers, lips sweetly pressed to his hairline; his good arm curled around her. Rather than wake Mary up immediately as would have been considered proper, she instead grabbed a blanked from a nearby cot and draped it over Mary. She took her place on her cot, feeling immensely grateful her son was in the care of a woman who could bring him out of a hallucination with the touch of her lips. She had seen men's fits go on for hours before.

That morning, Matthew heard Isobel sit up in bed. He feigned sleep, consciously evening his breathing. All he wanted was to stay here longer, to be able to remain with his arm around Mary. He was tired from the events of the previous night. His thoughts drifted back to them, wondering exactly what had happened. He had been sitting in bed long after Mary had left and the rest of the house had gone to bed. He was unable to sleep, so Isobel had sat up with him, talking. He tried his best to keep up with the conversation, but his thoughts continually drifted back to war. Then, all of a sudden, Isobel disappeared and he was back in the Somme, fighting for his life…

He didn't remember much about his… hallucination, as Isobel had called it. He knew he had seen and felt what he had seen and felt when he was at the Somme. He could smell the gunpowder, blood, and rotting human corpses, and taste the gasses in the air.

One specific vision he did remember troubled him. He was poised to stab a German with his bayonet when he heard a gentle voice, calling to him. The voice didn't belong there – it was the voice of an angel. Am I dying? He had thought. The voice stopped calling to him, and his vision got worse. He was in hand-to-hand combat, rolling in the mud, his knife to another man's throat. Then, he watched his friend from the trenches get shot in the lung. He was listening to the man's cries for help, muffled by the blood that was suffocating him when he felt a foreign pressure on his forehead that quickly moved to his lips. It pulled him away from the Somme, and the battleground faded away.

He was back at Downton, and Mary was leaning over him, saying "Oh, Matthew." He would've thought he actually died and gone to heaven had tears not been streaming down her face. An angel shouldn't cry, he thought. He lifted his hand to her face and gently wiped away her tears. She only cried harder. As she cried, he realized that tears were falling from his eyes as well. His angel lay down next to him on top of his covers and pressed her face into his neck. He wrapped his arm around her. He did not know what had happened to him, only that Mary's presence was an incredible comfort.

When Mary had begun to stand, he panicked. He tightened his arm around her, and "Please," was all he could manage. He was immensely relieved when she lay back down next to him. He closed his eyes, and he felt a startlingly familiar pressure to his forehead. He didn't have much time to ponder more on Mary's - he assured himself – platonic kiss, his eyes quickly drifting shut with his exhaustion.

As Matthew lay awake, he mused over the events of the previous night until he felt Mary begin to stir. He then pretended to wake up so that Isobel wouldn't be suspicious.

Isobel saw her son's eyes flutter open. "Good morning, Matthew!" she said brightly, and walked to his bedside. At her words, Mary's eyes snapped open. She jumped out of bed.

"Oh! Isobel! Good Morning!" Matthew had to smile at Mary. Her eyes were still muddled with sleep. It was the first time he had ever seen her frazzled. She looked down at herself, noticing she was still in her dressing gown. "Oh! If you'll excuse me…" She took off like a shot. Matthew and Isobel simultaneously grinned.

"Lady Mary Crawley not perfectly put together. This, I have to say, is a first," Isobel remarked, echoing Matthew's thoughts. "It is nice, seeing that she is one of us mere mortals, after all." Matthew grinned wider.

"Well, we still can't be too sure of that. She'll probably emerge soon, looking just as fresh as ever."

"Quite certainly," Isobel agreed. Glad to see him in such high spirits after the previous night, Isobel decided to tell him the good news Clarkson had brought. "Matthew, Clarkson said that it might be beneficial for you if you were to go outside in a wheelchair – we need to begin rebuilding your strength."

Matthew's face lightened then dropped. "Why a wheelchair? Is there something wrong?" He frowned at his legs. He could certainly feel them, every stinging cut and bruise. However, he hadn't tried to move them – He had been too tired.

"Oh, no, my dear boy. Your legs are perfectly fine," Isobel hastily reassured him. "You're just very weak at the moment, and we need to take this one step at a time." Matthew visibly relaxed as Isobel continued. "We could give it a go right after breakfast, if you like."

Matthew nodded. To get out of this room would be more than welcome. He took breakfast quietly, thoughts, as they almost always were, on Mary. Isobel helped him eat. I wish it were Mary, he thought. He was immediately ashamed of himself. His mother was a wonderful companion, and equally as capable as Mary of taking care of him. When his tray was taken away, Isobel stood and left the room. When she returned, Thomas, pushing a wheelchair, followed her.

Isobel and Thomas quickly lifted Matthew into the chair. Isobel took a blanket from his bed and draped it over his lap, dismissing Thomas. She stood behind the chair and began to push him when Mary gracefully glided into hid room, looking (to his and Isobel's amusement) as fresh as ever.

"Matthew!" She exclaimed. "You're out of bed!"

"Yes," Isobel said patiently, "Clarkson recommended he go outside for some fresh air for a bit."

"Ah, well then," Mary replied, "I shall be happy to take him." Leaning close so only Isobel could hear she whispered, "Cousin Isobel, I took the liberty of having some fresh clothing sent up from Crawley House. Anna has them." Isobel looked down, suddenly self-conscious of the outfit she had been donning for the past three days. She smiled gratefully at Mary and left.

"Well then," Mary said, turning to Matthew, "Shall we journey outside?"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Mary pushed Matthew across the lawn of Downton, her heels sinking into the soft earth. "I shall have arms like Jack Johnson if I'm not careful," she smiled at Matthew."

Matthew only grinned up at her. He was luxuriating in the sun, which had felt so foreign after two years of the dark trenches, weeks in battlefield hospitals, and a week inside at Downton. He didn't say what he wanted to her. Even with Jack Johnson's arms, you would still be so incredibly lovely, he had wanted to mummer, he quickly pushed the thought down – Mary was a friend, nothing more. "I could wheel myself…" he began to protest, but immediately stopped, feeling foolish. With one arm in a sling, and he still so weak that he couldn't even feed himself, he could no better wheel his chair then stand up and go frolicking through the grounds of Downton.

Mary only eyed him and gently commented, "I'll be the judge of that." She continued to push Matthew in silence. Matthew couldn't help but tip his head back, enjoying the warming of his perpetually cold body. He felt wonderful. He hadn't felt this good since before the start of the war… Since things had ended between he and Mary.

Robert Crawley watched from a window in the house, observing his eldest daughter push the man he considered to be his son across Downton's lawn. He noticed how the other soldiers stared and even whistled at Mary. Mary was completely oblivious. She had eyes only for Matthew.

He felt a pain in his heart. How badly he – how badly everyone (excluding Edith) wanted Matthew and Mary to eventually find each other. Everyone could see their obvious love for each other – everyone except, curiously enough, the pair of them. He was relieved that neither of them was engaged to their… prospect. There was still hope for them, if they both stopped being so stubborn long enough to just accept each other.

He was concerned. The man who was courting Mary, Sir Richard Carlisle, was coming to visit Downton in two weeks. Robert knew they weren't engaged, but there was an unanswered proposal. He hoped dearly she did not accept. He was jolted from his thoughts when he heard Carson's deep tone announce his presence. "My Lord?"

"Yes, Carson?"

"There is…A visitor."

He followed Carson down to the main hall. When he saw who the visitor was, his heart dropped to his stomach.

Mary continued to push Matthew across the lawn of Downton. She heard Anna calling, "Milady?" as she hurried towards Mary and Matthew. "Milady. There's a visitor." Mary was perplexed.

"Who?"

"For Mr. Crawley."

Mary didn't know who it could be, and she looked at Matthew who shrugged. Mary wheeled Matthew back across the lawn to Downton. When she pushed him through the door, she stopped dead.

"Lavinia." Mary and Matthew simultaneously breathed.

Lavinia smiled innocently, sweetly, as she crossed the room to Matthew's side. "Matthew. How are you feeling?" she asked warmly, oblivious to the shocked reactions of the family around them.

"Uh-" Matthew stammered, "Quite alright, thank you."

"I do hope I'm not intruding too much. Lady Grantham had said it was quite all right if I came to visit you." Cora looked like a fox cornered by dogs.

"Ah… I see… So kind of you to visit…" Matthew responded, still stunned. He was grateful when Robert cut in. "Shall we head on to luncheon?"

Matthew sat next to Lavinia during lunch as she blindly chattered about what had been happening in London in Matthew's absence. She was totally oblivious to everyone else in the room's discomfort.

After lunch was finished, Lord Grantham regretfully offered Matthew the library to catch up with Lavinia. Mary watched as Lavinia rolled Matthew into the library, her heart twisting into a knot.

She wasn't sure what to do, having become so accustomed to constantly being in Matthew's presence. It was a welcome relief when Anna came into the room. "Telephone for you, milady." Mary followed Anna, and picked up the receiver.

"Lady Mary Crawley," she answered the telephone.

"Hello, Lady Mary," A smooth voice crackled over the line, and Mary recognized it as none other than that of Richard Carlisle.

"Ah, Richard, so nice of you to call," Mary said, adopting her usual haughty tone.

"I'm afraid it won't be so nice when you hear what it's about."

"Oh, dear, that sounds rather serious."

"It is. I need you to come down to London immediately."

Mary's heart sank. She knew exactly what was wrong. "I'll be there as soon as possible," she said, then went and informed Robert of her departure. He did not question her, seeing the urgency in her eyes.

Five hours later, Mary walked, with is much grace as she could muster, into Richard Carlisle's office.

"Lady Mary," Richard greeted her. He stood. "I am impressed with how quickly you arrived," he said, the lines on his forehead deepening.

"It sounded urgent," was all Mary could manage. She knew what was coming.

"It is," Richard began, enjoying the power he felt he had over Mary at the moment. "Mary, I have been informed about the story regarding the late Mr. Pamuk."

Mary closed her eyes against the impact of his words. She had tried to prepare herself on the train up, but his words still hit her, hard.

She steadied herself. "And I assume you want something to keep it secret?"

Richard smiled, and bade she sit down. He then informed her of the offer he was willing to make her. She could marry him, and save herself and her family from scandal. Or, she could refuse, and he would publish.

"You have two weeks to decide. I will be visiting Downton at that point, and you may tell me your choice." He then dismissed her, as if she were a maid. She seethed at his treatment of her. She was livid, and left for the train that would carry her back to Downton.

Little did Mary know that a few hours after she had left, Lavinia had accidentally dropped her tea cup as she spoke to Matthew; she gasped when it hit, when it shattered with a loud crash. She had knelt down to try and pick up the pieces. When a maid hurried into the room and she stood up, she gasped again.

Matthew's eyes were open but unseeing, his lips moving, shouting silent commands to his comrades…


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Isobel was tending to a soldier in the convalescent hospital when Mrs. Hughes appeared behind her. "Mrs. Crawley, Matthew… He's…" Mrs. Hughes didn't even have the chance to finish her sentence before Isobel bolted from the room. He really is shell shocked, she thought sadly as she hastened to the library. Her sweet little boy was being haunted by hallucinations now and for the foreseeable future.

She was slightly relieved when she walked into the room. Matthew was not violent in this hallucination, but sitting frozen in his wheelchair. She turned to Lavinia, who was standing by Matthew's side, sobbing and pleading with him to wake up. Isobel felt some annoyance at Lavinia's hysterics. Her falling to pieces was not going to help Matthew. She turned to Robert, who was standing in a corner, looking helpless. "Where is Mary?"

"She had to go down to London… Urgent business, apparently," Robert stammered.

"And when will she be back?"

"She telephoned that she was leaving about half an hour ago, so soon."

"We need her here as soon as possible." Robert looked confused, and Isobel gestured towards Matthew. She didn't want to reveal how Mary was the only one who would be able to help. She turned to Carson. "We need to lay him down."

Carson rang the bell for the two footmen in the house, and Thomas and Mosley appeared. They both looked shocked when they saw the state Matthew was in. "If you gentlemen would be so kind as to help me move him to the couch?" Isobel commanded. With the help of everyone in the room excluding Lavinia, who was still hysterical, Isobel gently lifted Matthew from the chair onto a nearby couch. Matthew remained as stiff as a board, his eyes tormented, and his lips silently moving. Isobel began to smooth his hair and speak nonsensically to him, praying Mary would return soon.

Mary's train arrived at the station. Her mind was whirling from the day's events. She hurried away from the train, eager to get back to Matthew. She didn't know why, but as she was leaving the station in London, she had the strangest feeling that something, though she didn't know what, was terribly wrong. She wasn't able to shake it during the train ride.

She had originally planned to walk home, hoping that it would clear her head some. However, when she got off of the train, she saw Branson waiting for her. "Branson!" She exclaimed, "I had told Lord Grantham that I would walk-"

"Lady Mary –" Branson cut her off, "Matthew…" He didn't have to say another word. Mary wordlessly flew through the station, Branson close behind. She remained silent and stared out the window for the car ride home. She only nodded as he informed her on what was happening with Matthew.

As soon as the car stopped at Downton, Mary got out of the car and ran inside, not waiting for Branson to open her door. Mrs. Hughes directed her towards the library. Mary paused outside the door, and breathed deeply. She would have to calm Matthew without kissing him – Lavinia was present.

She walked into the room. Everyone turned to look at her. "Where is he?" Robert walked Mary over to the sofa where Matthew lay. Isobel stood beside him, and Lavinia knelt, sobbing, by him. At the sight of Matthew, Mary's heart broke again.

He wasn't shaking or thrashing, but lying perfectly still. His breath was fast, and his tormented eyes darted around. He mouthed words only he could hear. She turned to everyone in the room. "All of you – excluding Lavinia and Cousin Isobel." Everyone obliged, filing out the door. Robert shot her a curious glance as she did.

Mary sat on the edge of the sofa. She scooted so that Matthew's head rested on her lap. She leaned over him. "Matthew… Matthew… Can you hear me?" There was no response from him.

"It's not working-" Lavinia choked out.

Mary firmly placed a hand on either cheek. She gently put pressure on the sides of his face and leaned over him to make her face very close to his. She continued to speak to him. Matthew slowly began to grow more restless in his hallucination, muscles twitching. Mary knew that he was approaching the violent stage of the hallucination, and she needed to quickly pull him out of it. She looked desperately at Isobel.

Isobel knew what Mary's look meant. She too realized that things were about to take a turn for the worse. She nodded at Mary, silently giving her permission to do the only thing she knew to be able to bring Mathew out of his waking nightmare. Right now, her son was her priority. She had no concerns for Lavinia's feelings – the girl wasn't even his fiancée yet.

Mary quickly leaned over Matthew, firmly pressing her lips to his. She was relieved when she felt him begin to relax under her touch. She pulled away, and Matthew opened his eyes, seeing clearly. He breathed shallowly and was disoriented.

Mary began to speak quickly and calmly, hoping to avoid a meltdown from Matthew for Lavinia's sake. Although, the old, snarky Mary side of her thought, It probably wouldn't make much difference after she saw how you calmed him. She quickly silenced those thoughts and continued to speak. "Matthew, we're at Downton, you had an episode, but you're alright now, it wasn't so bad.

Matthew blinked rapidly. Mary – his angel – was standing over him, replacing the battlefield that been there mere moments ago. She was speaking to him, comforting him. Something wasn't right. Lavinia, he remembered. She was here. She had seen. He took a moment to collect himself, focusing on the sound of Mary's voice.

After he was certain he was emotionally sound, that he would not break, he rolled his head towards Lavinia. "My dear, I am so sorry you had to see that." Lavinia smiled back at him weakly, tear stains on her cheeks. It did not reach her eyes, though, and he thought he saw something else in them- betrayal.

"It's fine," Lavinia managed.

Mary stood and left the room, returning shortly with Thomas and Carson. The five of them eased Matthew back into his chair, and Isobel rolled him back to his room. He did not allow them to lift him onto his bed, electing to remain in his chair. Lavinia sat beside Matthew, in the chair normally occupied by Mary.

Thomas and Carson bowed and left the room. Mary wanted to stay behind, but Isobel gently tugged on her arm, indicating they should allow Matthew and Lavinia some privacy. She then left the room. Mary hesitantly followed behind her, casting a worried glance at Matthew before following her out.

Matthew and Lavinia sat in silence. This was not, Matthew realized, the easy silence that came at the natural end of his and Mary's talks, but an awkward one. There was none of the peace he and Mary had, but an uncomfortable lack of conversation.

They sat like that for a while. Matthew began to think..

He did not really know this woman next to him. He was grateful he had not proposed to her yet. He almost had, and she had been expecting it, but on the day before he planned to propose, he had suddenly been called back to the front. He had no knowledge of her interests, her background, or of her opinions. He only knew that she was kind and innocent. At the beginning of the war, when he had begun his courtship of her, that had been enough. He had been reeling from the end of things with Mary, and Lavinia had been such a welcome contrast. She was warm and uncomplicated.

Now, that was not enough. He knew he loved Mary more, and even if she didn't return his affections, He could not continue with Lavinia. It would be dishonorable. How could he do that to her, when she could not have his full love, now or ever?

Also, he realized, she may not be able to handle his… condition. From what he heard from Mary, it had not been particularly bad compared to his… fit the previous night. Yet, Lavinia, when he saw her, had been crumpled on the floor. As Isobel told him, she had been completely hysterical for the hour or two his mind had been in France. He did not know how she would handle a repeat of that, or the far worse ones.

He had to let her go, he realized. He would have to let her know he was ending their courtship. He began to speak, but Lavinia beat him to it.

"Matthew, I know that it is horribly cruel and selfish for me to do this to you in your hour of need, but I must, nevertheless. I need to end our… courtship."

Matthew blinked, and began to speak, but Lavinia cut him off.

"I realize I am not strong enough to handle your affliction. As if that wasn't bad enough, there is someone in the house who is. It was Mary, not I, who pulled you out of that horrible trance. When she did in the way she did, and you sat, head in her lap, I thought-" her voice wavered, "How good, how right, you two looked together. I'm sure you hate me now, but I am doing what I feel I must do."

Matthew cleared his throat. "Lavinia – I don't hate you. I could never. In fact, I was about to do the same. It is horribly wrong to ask you to deal with my condition, especially since we were never engaged."

Lavinia looked both deeply saddened but incredibly relieved at the same time.

Matthew held his hand out to her. "I hope… I hope we are able to remain friends."

Lavinia took a deep breath. "Friends yes, but I need to keep my distance for a while. I feel a clean break would be best."

Matthew nodded. "I appreciate your honesty. Thank you… and goodbye."

Lavinia stood without another word, and left the room. She ran into Mary. She sadly glanced at her. "Mary, I was wondering if a car could be brought around – I'm leaving for London."

Mary nodded, wondering just what had transpired between Matthew and Lavinia. She watched Lavinia's car disappear down the drive, before she returned to Matthew's side.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Mary silently took a seat beside Matthew. She figured the reason for Lavinia's departure was that something had happened between she and Matthew. Mary wondered if she was responsible. She felt guilty – she had liked Lavinia. Even though she hadn't been able to cope with Matthew's hallucination – he had handled it better than she – she was a sweet girl.

Matthew looked far off. It was not the far-away look he got before a fit, but a sadder look. She so hated to see him upset, and took his hand. He looked at her, and his eyes were watery. Mary cleared her throat. "Do you want to talk about it?" He sighed.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt. I never proposed to Lavinia, so she was not bound to me. The best option was to let her go- I don't believe she would have been able to cope with my-" Mary flinched as he said it, "sickness. She will be quite all right. She was the one who first brought up that we should end it all." Matthew elected to omit the fact that that was only half of his reason for ending his relationship with her.

Mary only nodded, and squeezed his hand. Matthew swallowed thickly, but did not break. He turned to her. "But enough about my affairs… How are things in your life? The Richard Carlisle you told me about?"

Mary grimaced distastefully at his name. "I see no point in lying to you… He proposed." Matthew's heart sank.

"And did you accept?"

"No."

"Did you tell him 'no'?"

"No."

Matthew was confused. "I told him I'd give him my answer when he visits, in two weeks' time," Mary clarified.

"Well, if you do choose to do so, I wish you all the luck in the world." If she married me, she would have to deal with the shell of a man I am, He thought bitterly.

Mary chose this moment to stand, and move behind Matthew's wheelchair. She began to roll him towards the door. "Where are we going?" Matthew wondered.

"Just for some fresh air."

Mary pushed Matthew across the grounds. It was much in the same way she had yesterday, yet she couldn't help but feel there was something was different. There was a sort of divide between them, a new fence that was not there before.

"Mary, please don't allow me to stand in the way of your happiness. If I thought I was, even for a moment, I should jump into the nearest river."

Mary smiled weakly. "And how would you manage that, without my help at the moment?"

Matthew smiled. "Well, I would get you to push me. But, seriously, I want you to be happy, and if I thought I was standing in the way of that, I should go away and never see you again."

"But you don't mean that," Mary protested.

"But I do."

"And what will you do? About marriage I mean."

"I suppose I should like to be alone. I would not want to subject anyone to me, as I am now." Matthew smiled grimly. "I am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me. I have nothing to give and nothing to share."

Mary was troubled. "Matthew… I don't have to marry him, you know."

"You don't have to, but do you want to?"

"I don't think so – but there is something…" she swallowed, "Binding me to him."

Matthew was alarmed. "What? What is it?"

Mary turned to him, her face sad. "If you knew the reason, you would despise me, and that I really couldn't bear."

Matthew did not know what reason could be great enough for Mary to subject herself to marrying Richard Carlisle.

Matthew was no stranger to Mary keeping secrets from him, but something felt different this time, and he could feel the tension in the air. He looked for a change of subject, and found one in something that was troubling him deeply. "So… How's William?"

"Not too well, I'm afraid, and quickly deteriorating. It won't be long now…" Mary said sadly. She proceeded to tell Matthew about how the young man who had saved his life lay dying in one of the loveliest rooms of the house, and how he had married Daisy.

Matthew listened quietly, his thoughts finally drifting from Mary and Carlisle. When she finished, he cleared his throat. "If you wouldn't mind, I think I would like to see him."

Mary wheeled Matthew back into Downton and down the hall to where William stayed. She knocked, and Daisy opened the door. She smiled at the young maid. "I do hope we're not intruding," Mary said, gesturing towards Matthew.

Daisy was awestruck, as always, by the great Lady. "Not at all, Milady," she said as she opened the door so Matthew could be wheeled in. Matthew nodded to William's father before turning towards William in his wheelchair

"My dear chap, how do you feel?" He said, before realizing it was a horrid question to ask. The man next to him was dying, his lungs collapsing in on themselves. Of course he's feeling terrible.

"Not too well, I'm afraid, sir," William wheezed. He looked at Matthew's chair. "Are you-"

Matthew realized what William was asking. "No, I'm not paralyzed." More gently, he continued, "You made sure of that."

William smiled, a trace of humor flickering across his ghostly pale face. "I only wish I could've saved your arm, sir."

Matthew grinned in spite of himself. He then became gravely serious, leaning close to William. "I want to thank you, properly. For what you did. You went above and beyond your duty."

William leaned back, Matthew's words giving him peace. Matthew didn't have any more to say, and nodded to Mary, signaling she should wheel him out. She backed him up, and pushed him out of the room. "Oh. I need to grab one thing. Would you be alright for a moment?" Matthew nodded, wondering what she had possibly left in the two minutes they were in there.

Mary quickly slipped back into William's room. She leaned down next to William, her lips close to his ear. "Thank you. I thank you. More than anyone would ever be able to ever comprehend- thank you for bringing him back to me." She leaned back, and her eyes met his. She saw understanding in them, and William almost imperceptibly nodded.

She left the room and returned to Matthew's side. "Did you find what you left?" He inquired.

Mary gazed down at him "As it turned out, there was nothing in that room I didn't already have here." He looked confused, but remained silent as she rolled him down the hall.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Mary rolled Matthew back into the convalescent hospital. Matthew was silent, seeming to, in a way, be at peace. Mary wished she had thought of taking him to see William sooner than it had taken for him to ask her to. It had obviously brought him comfort, and he genuinely seemed happier.

Mary pushed him into his room. With the help of another nurse, Mary lifted Matthew back into his bed, gently helping him lower his back down onto the bed. Matthew was completely exhausted. The poor thing, she thought as she lay him down. He had spent more time out of bed that day than he previously had even been awake.

For that reason, she thought he was already asleep as she pulled the blankets up around him. "Mary…" he mumbled.

"Yes?"

"I know it may not be proper to ask you to do so, but would you mind staying with me?"

"Of course," Mary said.

"I do so enjoy your company…" He said groggily, before drifting off.

Mary mused over this as his breaths steadied. "I do so enjoy your company."

She could have been imagining it, but there was something in his voice when he said it. He was just groggy, said a nagging voice in her head. It sounded curiously like Edith. Still, another said, just his asking you to stay was something. It had to be. He must know that you'll stay, that you would gladly sit by his bedside till the end of time if he wished.

Mary's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone gently clearing their throat. She turned. "Nurse O'Malley!" She exclaimed in a tone barely above a whisper. She stood and greeted her. "Is there something you need?"

"Well, Lady Mary," the older woman began, "I couldn't help but notice your attentiveness to Captain Crawley…" Mary blushed, but nodded for the nurse to go on. "I was hoping I could share some information that might help you help him cope with his shell shock." Mary nodded, and motioned that they take a seat in two chairs at the foot of Matthew's bed.

"In almost every case of shell shock I've seen, there's been someone, or something, that can help a man. You seem to be what brings Captain Crawley out of his fits." Mary nodded, her blush deepening. Nurse O'Malley knew.

"Lady Mary, that's nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, you should be proud. Now, listen. By staying by his side, you can help him heal."

Mary was perplexed. "Oh? I thought that shell shock was permanent?"

Nurse O'Malley shook her head. "In my years of experience, I've observed that there seem to be two types of shell shock: The first is the one you hear about most often. Men come back from the front, shells of the men they once were. They are unrecognizable, personality-wise. They are erratic, even dangerous, and never recover." She paused. "Then, there is the second kind. The person has the same fits and nightmares associated with the first, but it is not a constant. The person, as they were before the war, or rather, not shell shocked, is still visible. This type can be treated. Tell me, do you see Captain Crawley as he was before the war in him?"

Mary nodded. "Most of the time."

Nurse O'Malley smiled. "I've noticed that he almost always behaves quite normally in your presence. The few times I've seen him away from you, he slips away."

"Nurse O'Malley, are you implying I am keeping his shell shock at bay?"

"Yes, dear. Not only that, but helping treat it."

Mary paused for a moment, to take it all in. "What can I do to speed the process?"

"Well, for one thing, leave his side as few times as possible. Don't let him go into a fit if you can help it. Let him know he is cared for, loved. Show affection. However, treat them normally - don't tiptoe around them. There's something called 'subconscious therapy', though I do not know how much merit there is in it. It is where one speaks to the afflicted while they sleep…" Nurse O'Malley continued, explaining several other techniques. Mary listened intently.

When Nurse O'Malley finished, she stood, and Mary did the same. She placed her hands warmly around the older woman's hand. "I cannot thank you enough."

"Think nothing of it, dearie. You remind me of myself at your age." Nurse O'Malley looked wistful for a moment, then nodded to Mary and left.

Mary sat down beside Matthew, who was still deeply asleep.

She took a few deep breaths. Matthew was going to be all right. One day, he would be free of the visions that tormented him. He would be happy.

Mary decided to begin his "therapy," as she thought of it. She leaned in close to him, her lips almost touching his ears.

"Matthew. You are here. You are safe. You are loved."

Matthew didn't stir, but Mary wasn't deterred. She continued to speak softly to him.

After a while, she grew tired. Not being able to help herself, she pressed a kiss into Matthew's hairline before gently slouching into sleep.

Little did she know that Matthew was awake and feigning sleep.

He had woken, and heard Mary repeatedly whisper to him, "You are here. You are safe. You are loved."

But not by you, he thought.

He wasn't so sure when he felt a startlingly familiar pressure to his hairline.


End file.
